


that little kiss you stole

by softsocky



Series: rockstar rocky au [1]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Famous Rocky, Fluff, M/M, Romance, non famous sanha, pun intended, rocky is in a rocky band, sanha is a nursing student who loves pink and is a sweet angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 02:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13401915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: "I noticed that you have a warning sign on the cups for the drinks being hot but the real warning should be on your apron because you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."





	that little kiss you stole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jinjangled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinjangled/gifts).



> what the fuck am i doing
> 
> anyways. this is for [Leah](https://jinjangled.tumblr.com/) who let me shove this head canon down her throat <3 ily
> 
> title from the song '[deathbeds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z75wILnuTlk)' by bring me the horizon. it's damn beautiful. wow. 2013 me is quaking.
> 
> also, not proofread lmao

The venue was dark and grimy and smelt like weed and cheap beer, and it was everything Sanha was told to avoid as a child.

If his Mum knew where he was right now, he’d surely get a beating – but she assumed he was at the work with MJ again. Being a nurse, it wasn’t difficult to trick her into thinking he had another late split shift. Had she taken note, she’d have learnt that he had an unrealistic number all up. But she didn’t need to know that. No one did, really – just MJ, who knew by now to go with whatever his Mum said.

MJ was a caring and overly cautious friend, Sanha learnt quickly, after meeting him in his first year of university. When Sanha introduced him to Rocky later that same year, he’d been the first to tell him to steer clear – MJ had heard about the boy’s reputation, heard that it was laced with alcohol and drugs and loud, bass-heavy music and no doubt pornography and disrespect for anyone like _Sanha_. But, after hanging out with him at numerous different events, MJ’s perspective of the boy completely changed.

Sanha had been working the late shift at one of the campus coffee shops when a man in leather and red plaid walked in. He wasn’t Sanha’s first customer of the evening, nor was he his last, but he _was_ the most memorable. The first thing Sanha noticed was how _different_ he looked compared to all the other customers he’d had. This boy wore jeans so tight they were like a second skin, and the black t-shirt he wore underneath the flannel was thin and the neckline low and swooping, showing off his collarbones and top of his pecs, and Sanha was just _really gay okay?_ He liked a man who flaunted his assets, especially when they were accentuated by tight denim and see-through cotton. More than that though, was his face. He only came up to Sanha’s shoulder, and his body was slender and lithe, but his face was edgier than Sanha’s was, and he was manlier, too. Not that that meant anything, it was just Sanha remembers his mouth feeling incredibly dry at the side profile of his boy, the front profile, too – every damn profile.

He remembers the awkward silence, too, that followed Rocky’s ‘ _hey_ ’, and how he tried to restart his brain so many times. He couldn’t find his words, and Rocky – still nameless to him at this point – was looking at him with a little too much curiosity, and Sanha couldn’t get past the fact that boy was wearing _eyeliner_ , and _was that lipstick_?

Somewhere amidst the humiliation, Sanha was able to get his order – extra-large coffee, no milk, no sugar – and put the transaction through. When he left, the leather-clad boy shot him a wink and a smirk that left him staring after him until the next customer walked through the door.

The next time he works the late shift, it’s a few nights later. He hadn’t really expected to see the boy again, but when he walks through at a similar hour as last time, he’s greeted with a fluttery feeling in his stomach and a smug smirk. He orders the same thing, and Sanha tucks his head to try hide his red cheeks when he receives a cheeky wink again. He makes the coffee in silence, occasionally flicking his eyes upwards to where the boy stood, waiting, hands tucked into the back pockets of his artfully ripped jeans. Every time he looked, the boy would already be staring at him, that same damn smirk on his lips, and Sanha would have to look away in haste to avoid further embarrassment. When Sanha popped the lid on the takeaway cup, he considers writing something on the side, but decides against it when he realises how obvious it would be. When he hands the cup over, their fingers touch in passing, and Sanha feels like he’s jolted by lightning. He isn’t sure what the boy is thinking, or feeling for that matter, but he hopes he’s not alone.

The first time he considers that maybe the late-night coffee run boy isn’t _good news_ , is when he comes in with a swollen bottom lip and a plaster above his eyebrow. Sanha was bent behind the counter replenishing the stack of takeaway bags, when he hears a deep voice coming from above.

“This place comes with a nice view.” 

Sanha jolts upwards – just missing banging his head on the register – and drops a stack of bags he was holding when he sees the boy on the other side of the counter. He’s wearing his usual – leather jacket, shirt with a neckline so low that it was practically pointless to be wearing it in the first place, and though his jeans weren’t black this time around, they still had his signature rips in the thighs. Sanha makes a vague note of how _nice_ his thighs were, muscular and solid and _tan._ He swallows, drags his eyes away, fixes them on his face instead. The smirk is still there, but his eyes seemed softer somehow. Less tired, even.

Sanha mumbles something incoherent, cheeks ablaze, and enters his key-code into the registry. He doesn’t need to ask the boy what he wants – remembers his face anywhere, remembers the order that goes along with it – but he asks anyway.

“What can I get you?”

The boy is smiling wider now, and Sanha is momentarily blinded by perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’ll have a black coffee please, Angel.”

Sanha splutters at the boys shameless flirting, hands fumbling, cursing under his breath as he enters the order wrong from nerves. Sanha’s embarrassed, but what else is new, really – this boy in leather has a way of pulling all his awkwardness and throwing in his face. He’d find it annoying – and _rude_ – had he not been quite so fond of him.

Sanha quickly fixes his mistake on the computer, and before he can process the transaction completely, the boy is speaking again.

“Also,” he starts, and Sanha watches the smirk return to his lips, cocky and smug, but not rude per se – it’s not a smirk that makes Sanha think the boy demands everything, but rather one produced from humour.

“Yes?” Sanha says, cursing at himself mentally at how weak and small his voice sounds compared to the others deep and husky one.

“Can I get your number with that?”

Sanha’s hands freeze on the keyboard, but he doesn’t mess the order up this time – he manages to control himself enough to put the order through, let the boy tap his card before moving over to the coffee machine to start it. They say nothing else while Sanha makes his drink, and when he sees Rocky looking the other way, he hastily scribbles his number on the side of the cup. He slides the coffee collar into place, carefully puts the lid on, before passing across to him.

Rocky takes it from him gently, their fingers lingering a little longer than usual. A butterfly from Sanha’s stomach gets caught in his throat.

“You forgot the second part of my order,” he says it like a question, with one eyebrow raised and his lip halfway to a pout. Sanha thinks he looks adorable, but he doesn’t say as much.

Sanha shrugs, using a stray rag to wipe down the bench absentmindedly. “Did I?” This time, he throws in his own wink for good measure, and contains himself until the boy disappears, before letting out a squeal into the empty coffee shop.

When his shift ends, and the next grumbly barista comes and takes over for the midnight shift – _I hate working for a twenty-four-hour coffee shop, Sanha! –_ he’s giddy to find two text s from an unknown number. It’s small and there’s no punctuation, but it’s still enough to make him grin all the way home.

_hi angel this is rocky from the coffee shop_

_Rocky_ , Sanha remembers mouthing to himself over and over again, fusing the name to his brain so he’d never lose it, finding that he liked the way it rolled of his tongue, the way it clicked just right in his imagination. The second text had Sanha red-faced and high off his cursed crush, choking on air as he tries not to die.

_I noticed that you have a warning sign on the cups for the drinks being hot but the real warning should be on your apron because you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen._

Sanha didn’t know what to reply – what does one reply to something like that? He pondered on it all night, and it was nearing three am and he still hadn’t sent anything. He didn’t want _Rocky_ thinking he wasn’t interested, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. In the end, he remembers sending back a blowing-kiss emoji, and in the morning, he woke up to a text from Rocky asking him on date. From then on in, they were inseparable.

On their first date, Rocky makes sure Sanha receives all the cliché gestures. He picks him up from his shared apartment with MJ at six sharp, with a bouquet of flowers and looking far cleaner cut than Sanha had expected. He takes the roses with astonishment, hands shaking at he invites Rocky inside.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered, not really to Rocky, mainly to the flowers. He recalls touching the deep red petal of one of the roses, lifting them to his nose to smell.

He sees Rocky shrug, “they’re alright,” he adds nonchalantly. “They’re nothing compared to you, though.”

Rocky blushes, though not as much as Sanha, who nearly drops the vase he was digging out from under the sink. He turns away from Rocky before he can do anything stupid, and focuses on getting the flowers into some water. When he turns back, Rocky has grabbed the coat Sanha had placed over the kitchen bench, along with his wallet and keys. Rocky dangles it a little, and Sanha understands. With a dip of his head, he lets Rocky help him into his jacket, puts his keys into the pocket of the tan coat. Sanha goes to get his wallet from the bench, but Rocky pushes it away.

“You won’t be needing that.” Sanha goes to protest, but the definitive look in Rocky’s eyes makes him stop. He lets Rocky lead him outside, down the front steps to where he’d expected a car to be, but instead finds a sleep black motorbike instead. Sanha groans at that, spinning on his heel, letting his hands fall into his face.

He hears Rocky come to stand in front of him, “Sanha?” Big hands are wrapping around his wrists, tugging his hands away. He lets them fall, eyes fixed on the ground. Then, a finger is tilting his head up, making his eyes turn down to Rocky in front of him. He’s not smiling, but his face filled with concern, but his eyes soften when he sees that Sanha isn’t genuinely upset.

“Is everything alright?”

Sanha shakes his head, smile pulling on his lips. “ _No,”_ he says, but his voice is laced with amusement, so Rocky knows not to worry too much. His hands are still on his wrists, but are itching downwards slightly, and Sanha feels shaky with anticipation. It’s just _hand holding_ , but he’s acting like it’s a damn marriage proposal. “No,” he repeats. “I mean, you wear leather and you’re wearing _fishnets_ under your ripped jeans right now, and is that red eyeshadow? And eyeliner?” Rocky blushes, nods curtly, once. “And now, I find out you drive a motorbike. How could everything be alright after finding that out?”

Rocky’s eyes were flickering all over his face, and his hands were squeezing Sanha’s where they sat limply in his own, and Sanha recognised the expression as confusion. Rocky didn’t even understand how attractive he was, how attracted _Sanha_ was to _him_ , and that didn’t make _sense_. It didn’t sit right.

“Rocky, you’re so hot that it’s actually ridiculous.”

What happened next nearly made Sanha pass out. The boy – rough around the edges, one would describe him, with leather and piercings and dark makeup and (Sanha would later learn when he takes his jacket off) tattoos on his arms – let out a tiny squeal, a smile so wide and bright on his face that Sanha couldn’t help mimic it. Then, if that wasn’t enough, Rocky dragged his hand up to his mouth, and pressed the softest kiss imaginable to his knuckles. Sanha turned beat red, and Rocky cooed at him, pressed a finger into his cheek. Sanha swatted it away, heart bursting at Rocky’s little giggle.

Sanha had pulled the helmet on over his head with slight hesitation, but had eagerly wrapped his arms around Rocky’s middle. He admired the feeling of his muscles there, abs no doubt, Sanha thought, and cringed at the image of his own scrawny body in his mind. Rocky continued with the cliché date with a movie and Italian food, and then a walk along the River. The entire night, Rocky made sure he was touching Sanha in some way – whether it be holding his hand, or a guiding arm on the small of his back, or a hand sitting low on his hip as they walk the busy night-time streets.

Sanha tells Rocky that he’s a first-year nursing student, that he loves fish and has a tank filled with tropical ones back at his Mum’s house. He’s eighteen and his favourite colour is pink and his favourite music is ones he can play on the guitar. He even tells him that he’s never been on a date before, let alone had a relationship, either, and where he had expected himself to feel embarrassed, he felt nothing but compassion and understanding from Rocky, who only tightened his hand.

Sanha learns that Rocky is a year older than he is and that he’s in a band – not a hugely popular one, but their fan base is getting bigger every single day. He says that the music they make may not be his type, but Sanha doesn’t care, only cares that Rocky is happy making it and singing it and says that one day he’d love to hear him perform. Sanha is more attracted to the band thing than he thought, because for the rest of the night, he can’t stop thinking about Rocky gripping a microphone and belting out with his beautiful scratchy voice.

When the dates over, and Rocky walks him to his door, Sanha tells him again that he’d love to see him perform. Rocky smiles, ducks his head. “We have a show this Friday, actually, if you’re free?”

Sanha nods – probably too eagerly, but he doesn’t care at this point – and lets Rocky take both of his hands in his own. Rocky sure did look tough, rough and unkempt and a little distasteful with his language sometimes, but Sanha thought it was outrageously _cute_ somehow, and right now, he was the softest thing Sanha had ever laid eyes on. He was staring up at Sanha from underneath his eye lashes, and his mouth was slightly ajar. Sanha watches his eyes drop from his own, down to his lips, and maybe Sanha’s never been kissed before but he knows what that’s a tell-tale sign of. _He’s about to get kissed._ He remembers his brain going into overdrive, remembers feeling the elder boys breathe tingle his lips, remembers the feeling of one hand slipping out of his and then coming up to his cup his cheek. His eyes flutter shut automatically and without his consent, but he keeps them shut, realising know that he’s working on instinct. There’s ghostly brush of something supple and soft against his lips, and he’s about to delve into it, but then it’s gone.

Rocky’s lips are then at his ear, whispering out a cheeky “sorry, Angel, I don’t kiss on the first date,” before pressing a feather-light kiss to the patch of skin below his ear.

Sanha whines, eyes fluttering open. “You absolute _Tease—_ ”

Rocky cuts him off. “Sanha, will I see you Friday?”

He sighs, overdramatically, but nods nonetheless. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

The elder boy kisses the same spot below his ear, and Sanha has to stop himself from letting his eyes slip shut again, has to stop the breathy little sound from slipping between his lips. Rocky pulls away from his again, drops his hands, and suddenly there’s space between them that Sanha decides he definitely doesn’t like. He goes to whine, reaching out to him, but Rocky takes another step back with a smile and a shake of his head.

“I’ll text you the details for Friday, alright?”

Sanha pouts, leans back against his front door. He nods, and watches the boy walk away gingerly. Sanha waits till the boy has sped off on his motorbike before going inside, ready to endure the onslaught of questions from MJ.

When the Friday comes, Sanha finds himself clueless as to what to wear. He’s laid out several different looks, but none of them seem _right_. Sanha may be clueless about what to wear, but he’s not clueless about the style differences between Rocky and him. Rocky had said his music was Rock, a little edgy, pretty heavy, and his clothes matched that effortlessly. Sanha though, he owned nothing remotely close to anything Rocky himself wore. Sanha loves _pink_ , and Sanha is almost positive Rocky doesn’t even own a single pink thing. In the end, its nearing the time he has to head off to the venue, so he settles with his tan trousers and a chunky white knit and his lucky pink beret, and he hails the first cab he sees.

He realised, the moment he stepped out of the taxi, that he was definitely going to be out of place. There are people mingling outside the venue, cigarettes the only real source of light, but he can still see and feel them staring at him. He doesn’t blame them. He looks ridiculous, and this definitely isn’t his scene, and it’s so obvious that he’s never been here before. He wants to turn around and get back in the cab and just go to bed, but Rocky’s expecting him, told him to text him when he was here, and he’d come get him. So, he does. He sends the text ( _I’m out front xx)_ and slides his phone back into his pocket. To stop himself from jittering so much, he shoves his hands into his back pockets, tries to divert his eyes from the people watching him, and focus on the door to the grungy club.

Soon, a head of dirty brown hair exits, face stern and kind of mean, but eyes searching. His jeans are more ripped than any of the others Sanha had seen, exposing more of his deliciously tanned skin, and he’s still got his leather jacket on, but he’s got a bandana around his head now, too. Sanha feels out of breath and incredibly overwhelmed, even more so when Rocky’s eyes fall on him by the curb, and the expression he wore morphs into a huge, warm smile, reaching all the way up to his eyes. He saunters over to Sanha, his arms outstretched a little, and when he stops in front of him, Sanha melts.

Rocky’s hands find the curve of his elbow, find solace there, and suddenly their faces are close together, much like the other night. Rocky’s soft lips are against the underside of his jaw again, a kiss resembling a feather being pressed there ever so gently, followed by a not-so-gentle nip of his teeth. Sanha gasps, face roaring with fire, and Rocky pulls away with a chuckle. Sanha watches him drags his eyes over his taller body, and suddenly Sanha feels even more self-conscious.

He goes to tug the hem of his sweater down lower, but Rocky’s hand around his wrist stops him. “Don’t,” he said. His lips are pressed against his cheek now, and the whole thing is so soft, that where they stand now seems harsher, so unlike what Rocky himself is. “You look beautiful, Angel.” Sanha whines, kicks his feet a little. Rocky snickers, but tilts his head up to look at him, mimicking the movement from their first date.

“I’m so lucky you’re here to see _me._ I mean, _shit,”_ Rocky steps away a little, so there’s a bit of space between them, and gestures with his eyes down at him. “ _Look_ at you. You could have anyone you want, but _you’re_ here for _me._ ” Sanha drags his hands out of Rocky’s so he can hide his face in his palms, and even though he’s only been on one date with him before this, he knows to expect hands around his wrists, to tug his hands from his face. Sanha finds himself staring at Rocky with watery eyes and a little too much fondness for a second date, and then Rocky was placing a guiding hand on his lower, and directing him forwards.

Sanha’s nerves bubbled up in his gut, like acid burning, and as they stepped inside the club Sanha subconsciously reached out to him.  Sensing his hesitation, Rocky took his outstretched hand tightly within his own, and then with his other, slid it into Sanha’s back pocket. In any other situation, Sanha would have jumped at the contact, laughed at how cliché and tacky it was, but right now, the loud heavy music playing and the swarms of people were enough to make him step back into Rocky’s touch. Rocky guided him through the crowd, closer to the stage, not once did his grip lessen. Sanha, though overwhelmed, felt safe and warm against Rocky’s compact body. The fear was there, yes, and the discomfort of being in a surrounding he so did not belong in, but Rocky was there to make sure it didn’t take over him.

When they got to the side of the stage, Rocky motioned his head to a security guard against the back wall, who nodded in return. Rocky’s lips were back at his ear again. “That’s Miles. He’s going to keep an eye on you while I’m performing.” His lips move away from his ear, and pushes closer forward, so their cheeks are brushing. “I’ll keep you safe, alright?”

Sanha wants to make a comment about how this relationship (?) has moved pretty fast, wants to say it nicely, say it even though Sanha is happy that it is. But then the band on the stage now has finished, and the loud bass had tugged away, and Rocky’s grip disappears from him completely. Sanha is left feeling cold and he wants to pull out his classic whimper, try convince Rocky to stay, but he _can’t_ , because it’s Rocky’s turn – and Sanha desperately wants to see Rocky _sing._ Just as Rocky turns to go, he quickly diverts back, presses a hasty kiss to his jaw – _again,_ Rocky’s favourite spot, Sanha thinks – and then climbs on stage. Sanha lets his fingers grasp onto the edge of the stage, and while there are bodies pressed around him, he doesn’t let them bother him. He keeps his eyes on Rocky the entire time, is vaguely aware that two other figures are on the stage with him, watches him grab a guitar and strap it over himself. It’s too much for Sanha, really, because the image is ridiculously hot, and he hates the way his grip on the stage tightens when the band begins to play.

Sanha knew by now that the music wasn’t going to be his type – he guessed that from Rocky’s clothes alone, from the venue, from the band that played before them – but still, he found himself in a trance. Rocky doesn’t just sing and play the guitar, he _performs._ The music is heavy and croaky, and while Sanha can’t always tell what Rocky’s singing – screaming – there are vocals in there, too, and they’re high pitched and beautiful and Sanha’s heart is thumping so loud, it’s matching the rhythm of the drums out back. Sanha doesn’t like the music, per se, but he likes Rocky – a _lot_ – and he likes watching him in this element.

Every now and then, Rocky would look down at him, throw him a smile around his words, and Sanha’s heart would burst all over again. By the time their set finished twenty minutes later, Sanha was overheated and sweaty, and he had a raging headache, but he was actually jumping along to the music with the rest of the crowd, because the smile that Rocky gave him because of it made it all worth it. Afterwards, Rocky drops off the stage beside him, and he’s sweatier than Sanha is, but the younger doesn’t care. He drags his hands up to the side of the singer’s face, drags him upwards, their height differences making it a little awkward, and slams their lips together. There’s a burning intensity to it, even if it is chaste, and it’s Sanha’s _first kiss_ , and it’s in a club that he’d never think of himself being in, and the boy is tattooed and sweaty and pierced and Sanha is so fond and likes him so much, and the whole thing is just _perfect._ Rocky pushes a little harder into the kiss when Sanha starts to pull away, trying to get a few more seconds of contact in, but then lets them break away with a groan.

Sanha giggles at him, breathless, and crowds himself up in his space. Rocky slips his arms around him again, and Sanha lets him put both hands in his back pockets of his trousers. Sanha decides that this must be Rocky’s signature move, matched with kissing and biting his jaw. When Rocky drives him home on his motorbike, he walks him to the door again. The kiss Rocky gives him at the door that night was longer than the one in the club, and had been given to him mid-sentence. Sanha was leaning against the wall by the front door, hands behind himself, and biting his let playfully and flirting the best he could with the singer. Rocky had a hand over his head, caging him in, not that Sanha had any intention of trying to get away. Sanha can’t even remember what he was talking about now, something about Rocky’s performance, about the way Rocky looked on stage, no doubt, when suddenly Rocky’s mouth had surged forwards and onto his, and that was the end of that. Because Sanha was a sucker for Rocky’s lips, he’d already learnt after just two kisses, because they were soft and pretty and a natural pink, Sanha’s favourite colour, and they were quickly becoming his favourite _lips,_ too. They kiss for a long time, Sanha thinks, with Rocky pressing him back against the wall and Sanha’s hands gripping at Rocky’s leather jacket. It’s fairly innocent save for the occasional whimper Rocky can coax out of him, and the hand that’s on his hip has slipped a little under his sweater, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin, before pulling away entirely. Sanha licks his lips, sagging back against the door again. His chest his heaving in time with Rocky’s, and the two of them saying nothing for a while, just stare at each other across the small distance between them.

When their breathing has returned to normal, Rocky grabs one of his hands again. Sanha likes Rocky because Rocky makes him feel special, appreciated, and like the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Rocky plays with his fingers a little, and Sanha’s other hand has found solace in Rocky’s jacket again, tugging him a little closer. Rocky lets himself be dragged forward, standing between Sanha’s legs, height much more obvious now.

“Angel?” His voice breaks the silence, but its welcomed. Sanha says nothing, just nods, sighs breathily as Rocky presses a kiss to his knuckles again. “You’re mine, right?”

Sanha has no words. All he has is watery eyes and shaky hands and a big smile and a nodding head and—oh. And a boyfriend now, too.

 

Years pass and soon, Sanha is graduating. He’s a nurse now, finally, and he has a job lined up already and MJ does, too, and things are looking bright. MJ is over his attitude problem with Rocky now, had been for a while, and Sanha was confident enough to say that MJ considered Rocky one of his best friends. So, confident, in fact, that he was almost positive that by the end of the year, MJ would be dating Rocky’s bandmate Jinwoo. His Mum would get over it too, eventually, and she already had started too – she was sitting beside Rocky now in the audience, smiling with him and clapping just as loud. They were cackling at something as MJ and Sanha head over to them now, and just as always, Rocky leaves him breathless.

He had seen his boyfriend earlier, before the ceremony, but he’s still stunned by him. Rocky had forgone his usual leather and ripped jeans, and had replaced them with a black suit and tie, had left himself bare faced and Sanha thinks the only time he’s ever seen him more beautiful is when he’s lying beside him in bed, mouth ajar and telling Sanha he loves him.

When they reach each other, Rocky’s hands find his, and he’s being pulled into a celebratory kiss. It’s barely even a peck because his Mum is right there, and his bandmates are, too, and staff and other students, and it’s not the time nor place, but it’s _enough_. When he pulls away, Sanha turns his head to the side instinctively, showing more of his neck. Rocky takes the hint, and rushes forward, pressing a quick kiss to the underside.

“Congrats, Angel,” he whispers into his ear, squeezing his hand once, before stepping away to allow his Mum to hug him.

After that, everything moves forward again. Sanha falls easily into the workplace, and loves it more than he had expected, and Rocky’s band releases a new album that gets on the charts. One day, when Sanha’s driving home, he hears it come on the radio. He has to pull over and call his boyfriend straight away, crying down the phone out of pride and love and everything in between. Their popularity surges, not enough for arenas or stadiums, but enough to sell out clubs and to be one of the well-known band in their genre. Rocky gets asked to do photoshoots and modelling, and at times its hard, because he’s away for song long on tour, but they manage, they survive. Rocky’s fame grows, and their love for each other grows with it.

During one particularly long trip away, Sanha manages to get a few days off work, and immediately books a plane ticket to the other side of Korea to visit him. He hasn’t told Rocky, plans it as a surprise, but sends a message through to Jinwoo as warning. Jinwoo – a dear friend and steady companion in his life – replies with a key smash and numerous emoji’s. Sanha packs hastily, drags himself to the airport in the early hours of the morning, and travels to the venue they’re playing.

At one point during their relationship, Sanha had tried to dress a little differently when going to Rocky’s shows. He stopped wearing quite so much pink, and started to wear black, had taken to even buying a ripped pair. But somewhere along the line, Rocky had pulled him aside, and gave him love and praise and told him to change into something more comfortable. When Sanha returned, Rocky pressed kisses all over his face, and called him his Angel again, because his sweater was _fluorescent pink_ and he finally looked himself, like the boy Rocky had fallen in love with.

So now, instead of worrying, Sanha happily wears his [baby pink trousers to the venue, wears his turtle neck and his cardigan and his clean white sneakers](https://hqsanha.tumblr.com/post/169792481955/180114-seasons-greetings-fansign-melodic) without shame or fear. Knows that when Rocky sees him, he’ll still love him anyway, even if he doesn’t like his music or know what he’s screaming or if he looks like he belongs in the crowd.

 

The venue was some abandoned theatre which had been purchased by wealthy investors and transformed into an underground sanctuary for bands like Rocky’s, and it was sold out, as always, and already there was thumping and bass-playing of the opening act. Sanha flips Jinwoo a text saying he was here, and heads inside. He pushes his way through the crowd – ignores the grunts and the swears and the looks of disgust, ignores the comments about how idiotic he looks – and stumbles to the front beside the stage. He catches eyes with Jinwoo as the opening band climb off stage, and he throws a thumb up in his direction before Rocky can see. And then Rocky is _right there,_ leather jacket around his arms, jeans tight, ripped, and _fuck_ , those are _fishnets_ underneath them, and his t-shirt is white and ripped and there’s too much of his chest showing for Sanha’s liking, but he can’t complain for long, because he’s suddenly performing. Their new album Sanha likes better than their first, likes the upbeat tempo mixed with the heavy drums and guitar riffs, likes being able to sing along to Rocky’s choruses and dance more, but most of all likes – _loves_ – Rocky best.

Their set lasts a long time, and somewhere during it, Sanha is pulled back into the crowd a bit more. He breaks away at one point to get a drink, another one, and another after that, too, till he loses count, till his head spins a bit and he’s slipping right back into the crowd. With his liquid courage, he dances more, sings louder, bangs his head along with everyone else around him, and he’s having so much fun he’s barely even aware of the crowd separating around him. When he does, he fears it’s a little too late.

Having been introduced into the Heavy Rock and Metal scene by his boyfriend, Sanha had also been introduced to the horrors of mosh pits. Knew about needles and the slipping of drugs, knew about the dangers of drinking a little too much. Knew about the Walls of Death. Knew that he was standing in between one now.

The music was still going and there was yelling on either side of him, and the drums were too loud and Rocky was screaming something down the microphone, and his heart was hammering so loudly in his ears he couldn’t even find the strength to move his feet, to get out of the way, to get out of the damn way. But then, all of a sudden, the screaming was louder than it was before, and Sanha squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for the oncoming rush of people from either side of him. What does come, though, is firm hands around his shoulders, tugging them towards them and then guiding him hurriedly through the club. His eyes remain closed, so he can’t see who it is, but he can feel the press of a zipper against him through his cardigan, can make sense of the words in his ear as Rocky’s.

“It’s okay, Angel,” Sanha catches at one point, but there’s another noise, closer to him than Rocky’s voice is, and it’s distracting him.

“Sanha, Sanha,” he chants, like a mantra in his head, like its the only thing he knows how to say. “It’s okay, baby,” more whispering, but maybe louder this time, because he can hear it clearer. His eyes open now, and Rocky’s right in front of him, hands on his cheek, brushing away tears he didn’t know he was leaving. Sanha recognises the noise now as himself sobbing, heavy and dry in his chest, the fear of what he had thought was about to happen catching up to him. Sanha was nurse, for crying out loud, he knew what this was. He was in _shock_. But Rocky was right there, finally touching him, finally with him – it had only been _three weeks,_ but it felt like a lifetime away from him.

“ _Angel,_ ” he whispers one last time, twiddling with the strands of hair at the nape of Sanha’s neck, before dragging their lips together. It’s surprisingly sweet for their reunion kiss, though Sanha wouldn’t have it any other way. He was still shaking, the warmth that Rocky radiating making him push closer to him. Rocky’s hands find their home in his back pockets of his trousers, and Rocky uses the leverage to drag him closer again. Sanha groans when Rocky tries to pull away a while later, making him laugh, but relent. He lets Sanha push him backwards, till his backs against the wall, and Sanha is peppering kiss down his face. It’s a change in situation, normally Sanha is the one Rocky presses against the wall, but Sanha is overwhelmed and not thinking all that clearly, and despite what had just happened, Rocky was still unrealistically attractive, and Sanha had missed him. It was that simple. Sanha missed his boyfriend.

Rocky presses a kiss to his nose, before indicating for Sanha to tilt his head to the side. With a red-cheeked smile, Sanha does as he’s told, giggles when Rocky nips and kisses against his jaw. Sanha usually had a permanent hickey there – something he was teased mercilessly for at work – but with Rocky having been away for so long, it had faded. Later, at Rocky’s hotel room, Sanha was sure he’d etch it back into his skin but for now, he pulls away, and lets his head rest against the brick wall.

They stare at each other wordlessly for a while, taking back in each other’s face. They don’t need words, not really, everything is said in their eyes and their body contact anyways. But still, Sanha says it, because he wants too, needs too.

“I love you, Rocky.”

Rocky pushes off the wall, one hand slipping out of Sanha’s back pocket, and clutching at his hip instead. Sanha wraps both arms around his neck, and places his head in the curve of Rocky’s neck. He inhales the familiar smell of alcohol and sweat and the spices that make up Rocky on a performance night, shut his eyes, and reacquaints himself with the home he finds there. His boyfriend presses a kiss to the side of his cheek, feather-light, and whispers, “you look beautiful, Angel,” he says, just like he had said that first night Sanha had seen him perform, like he had said to him every single other time he’d come to watch him play. Despite hearing it hundreds of times now, it was still enough to make Sanha squirm in his arms, enough to make him whine and hide his exposed cheek in embarrassment. He buries his face deeper in Rocky’s chest, arms tightening around his neck, and he so close he can feel the vibrations of Rocky’s laughter in his ear.

After some time, Sanha goes to question Rocky about the rest of the show – Rocky had left the stage, dragged him out, and hadn’t returned. He wants to ask, feels guilty for being the reason he had cut it short, but the gentleness in his eyes shuts him up. Rocky’s hands are suddenly rubbing up and downs his arms, overtop his cardigan, and he has a worrisome look on his face.

“You’re cold,” he declares, and Sanha glances down at himself. He lets the rush of his mind dissipate a little, before shivering, because _yes,_ he was cold. He’d been so wrapped p in Rocky – literally – that he hadn’t taken the time to notice. Now that the elder had pointed it out though, he couldn’t stop. Rocky chuckles, and Sanha watches him shuck out of his leather jacket.

When Sanha finally registers what Rocky’s doing, he freezes. Realistically, Sanha knows it’s just a jacket, but this was _Rocky’s leather jacket. The_ leather jacket Rocky was warning when Sanha saw him first, the one he wore on their first date, during their first kiss, during everything else they’ve done together. It’s basically another appendage on Rocky’s body, and to see it off him now feels foreign, and out of place. But still, Sanha lets Rocky help guide his arms through and onto his shoulders. It’s not a perfect fit, but it’s warm from where it was on his body, and it smells like him. Sanha shamelessly drags the colour up to his nose, and inhales. It doesn’t smell as good as the real deal – nowhere near as good as his actual neck – but its close enough, and has Sanha’s shivers stopping within minutes.

Later, Rocky has him pressed against the wall, hand above his head. He’s pressing little kisses from his hairline down the side of his face, to his much-loved spot, whispering tiny little _I love you’s_ into his skin after every kiss. Sanha has his fingers hooked into one of the holes of Rocky’s jeans, thumbing at the soft skin of his thigh, tangling themselves in the fishnets he wore underneath. Rocky is biting a bruise into the underside of his jaw, and even though they’re kissing in a disgusting alleyway outside a beat-up bar, they’re falling in love like it’s the first time all over again. And really, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t belong in the crowd, because he belongs in Rocky’s arms, and that’s what matters most.

 

**Author's Note:**

> soooo let me know what you think!!! im on tumblr at [softsocky](https://softsocky.tumblr.com/) so hmu!!!


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